The House is Just Packed
by Golda Penwood
Summary: One day you're living in your apartment, minding your own business, and then... the muse appears. How do you live with your muses? My version of the museauthor relationship... Logan, mess, Logan, beer, Logan, catastrophe, Logan, hilarious, REMY? Chap 6 up
1. Invasion

Honestly, I'm not really sure why I bother... do I _look _like I have 'I own Marvel' tatooed across my forehead//thinks// Or any other body part for that matter:p So, just so you know from now on, I own nothing that is already copyrighted by anyone currently living or recently passed

This is just a little intro to the series for those of you reading the first chapter of _The House is Just Packed_, a floofy tale cooked up from my scary imagination. It's been on hiatus under another account for a while, but now me and the gang are back and ready for action! For a more indepth apologie/explanation, check my profile for the full details and groveling.

HOWEVER... for those of you with highly seductive/whiny muses, I think you will feel my pain of having the lovely, hairy, and oftimes irritating Logan living with me - not to mention his many 'friends'. Enjoy, don't forget to review, and skip tipping your waitresses - even if that is a major part of our earnings ;-) Note - I am not encouraging underage drinking. I just happen to enjoy my wine and beer in moderation and without driving :-)

This fic is written with the full approval and occasional brain-child of Tyrel. Rating is for language, and, 'cause... its LOGAN, people. He just doesn't cooperate with K ratings around my place. Plus, me and the whole K-rating thing... not going to happen. So if swearing offends you, please stop reading now or be prepared to get offended.

Now, all intros gone, lets get on with it!

* * *

_**Invasion**_

I'm having trouble sleeping. This insomnia, fast becoming the habit it was during my pre-teen years, is beginning to feel like an old friend from my childhood in new surroundings. I turn over to hit the snooze button on my clock and groan loudly.

Two frickin' a.m. I think I need to hire a hit man to kill me. Wonder how that would work - could I pre-pay him for the job?

Turning back over to face the wall, I bump into the whiskered mug of an old aquaintance with a jar that shakes a few of the cobwebs loose, but leaves the rest fully intact. My eyes widen and I gasp before squinting them shut again.

_SHITE! _Why does this always happen to me?

"Not again... go away..."

I slit my eyes open to see hazel eyes smiling across an incongruous pink pillowcase. I pull the adjacent striped pillow over my face with a groan, muffling my next words.

"I'm dreaming; this is a nightmare. You don't exist, you're a figment of my sleep deprived imagination..."

Molson and cigar smoke winds around my small room, a memorable scent that awakens thoughts of long nights spent together, huddled over a computer companionably. Days where I would awake to find the scraggly face above mine with the light of a new plot in his eyes, and extra creamer in my hot chocolate.

Evenings when I would be unable to study because of his irritating humming and horrifically loud boots. Nights when my friends would look at me like I was nuts because I came up with extremely lame lies to hide the fact that there was absolutely no way I could drink an entire six-pack of Molsons in one sitting, and by the number of beer bottles under my bed, that was precisely what I was doing. I seem to recall that collecting bottles from along the highway was the best story. Oh, and how could I forget the times I had to shoo him out of my work, because I couldn't concentrate with him whispering plots to me while I answered phones and rung up customers.

Ah yes. That's why I made him leave.

I'm not going to look at him, not going to look at him...

I peek anyways. It _has _been a long time after all. Almost three months since Logan was relocated to a friend. It all really started when he claimed I wasn't utilizing him enough. My suggestion of dish duty and a frilly apron was met with disgust and severe sulking, and it wasn't long before he searched out another 'vessel'.

Vessel my ass, he needs a swimming pool to hold both that ego and his numerous plot bunnies.

What the hell is he doing back, in my bed, at two twelve in the morning? I can't see him through the only slightly slitted eyelids, so I open my eyes wider for a sideways squint.

Fiddlesticks. I wasn't hallucinating when I remembered how scarily handsome he was back in the day. Same pointed hair, same fluffy muttonchops, and what appears to be the same exact smirk of self-satisfaction.

"Knew ya'd welcome m' home. I've missed ya Golda."

I turn away and lock the pillow over my ears and face, deciding to risk asphyxiation rather than another haunting by my muse. Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away. Perhaps... just maybe... please, oh Lord, if you have a sword smite this invulnerable mutant.

Right now. Right... _NOW! _

Instead of the sound of frying flesh I was praying for, courtesy of a lightening bolt from heaven, rough hands lock over my knuckles and pry them, one by one and resisting, from the pillowcase. The sound of boots clunking against the floor as he kicks them off makes me hiss in alarm.

"_Logan_! Tye's in the next room!"

His smile turns upside down faster than a puppy with a belly itch. He growls, and what is left of my quivering stomach shivers and melts quietly through my backbone. Why couldn't I have an _ugly _muse... like... like... I'm trying to think of an ugly superhero here...

"Y're livin' wit' tha'... tha'... excuse fer a man?!"

He remembers to whisper, but I have to admit, my shields are further lowered by the feel of his whispered breath on my cheek. Any idignation I feel on Tyrel's behalf is quickly forgotten as I concentrate on trying to make my unwelcome muse dissapear.

No, must... remain... strong... he's just a figment of your imagination, thats it, a figment...

"OUCH!"

I jump as he pinches my arm. Hard.

Rubbing at the red mark on my wrist I throw a pillow across the room, knocking off a textbook from the teetering pile on my desk. Tyrel, in the room next to me, grunts and kicks the wall. Our beds butt against the same wall, my head at his feet and vice-versa. A kick in the middle of the night, only heard because of the shared wall, is little more than a subtle reminder to be quiet. I don't even think he's really awake most of the time when he does it anyway.

Crawling out of the bed, I fall with a thud against a box only half-hidden under the edge of my mattress. Tye kicks the wall again. I stand shakily and knock the wall twice. A muffled, "Mrph Golda... grumble flurf." can be clearly heard before everything resumes its natural two o'clock in the morning state.

Except for the bootless mutant still curled up on my bed, smirking as he props an elbow on the covers.

I groan and feel my way towards the door. I need some alcohol and ice cream, preferably as fast as possible. Shuffling out the door I head for kitchen, ignoring Logan. I'll deal with him after I get some sugar, both fermented and au natural.

Logan stands and follows me out, his sock-encased feet making very little commotion. Tyrel remains quiet in his room next to mine as I pass the oak door. My own bedroom is what we call the 'corner cranny'. One of those rooms they stuck in a corner, too big to be a closet, but still too small to hold a couch _and _the tv.

I stop in the shiny kitchen and open the freezer.

Good. Almost an entire pint of ice cream left. Unfortunately a glance in the fridge shows a distinct lack of Wild Turkey and Budlight. Tye must have finished off the Budlight, and I think the landlord probably took the Turkey. Drat.

"Darlin', I have this favor t' ask..."

I pull out the carton of milk, and sleepily shake it. The reassuring slosh makes me turn to pour some of the half-fat beverage into a pan. Logan sits down at the counter.

For some odd reason, my muse has always appeared in the guise of Hugh Jackman. Not that I'm complaining, mind - I'm about five eight, so having the comic Wolvie around would be trying to his short if stocky pride. But then at least I wouldn't has this feeling of deja-vu every time I watch _Kate and Leopold_.

Because my Logan (no, wait, _not_ mine, I'm disowning him forthwith - abra kadabra, _disowned_), theLogan, has all the grouchy, self-centered, irritating attributes he ever shows in Marvel. Plus a few little habits they don't mention; always leaving the air conditioning on, and wanting to stockpile jerky in weird places - like under couch cushions and behind the dryer.

I am not going through that again. I don't care if having him around makes writing the Wolverine fanfiction so easy, I'm not putting up with him. Besides, how am I supposed to get myself into a safe, long-term relationship if my muse makes me hang out in bars, to 'get the atmosphere right'?

"Darlin'."

"No Logan. I'm too busy."

I know the question before he asks it, and I'm putting my foot down this time. He can just go haunt some love-sick teenager who would like having a beer-guzzling sexy mutant in her bed at two a.m.

Silly kids. They have absolutely no idea what they're getting into by opening their doors to a muse. Mine have always been something like termites - just when you think you've squashed the last irritating little plot, another one turns up. Although Logan is by far the worst - at least the others can be offended and chased off. He gets offended and comes back.

Go figure.

I slam the cupboard door shut. A protesting Tyrel sleepily throws something at his door.

"Gol-DA! I'm sleeping here, give me a break... damn nutcase."

I roll my eyes at the clearly grouchy Tyrel. "Sorry. Suppose this means you don't want me to turn on the blender?"

Another curse and Tye opens the door. "Golds, I have a chem test tomorrow... what are you doing?"

I pull my robe tighter and flick a glance towards Logan.

"Erm... nothing?"

No one except me has so far been able to see the muse, for which I both thank and curse all God's whims. Tye, however, tenant to the last Wolverine visitation, follows my guilty flick with increasing awareness.

"He's here again, isn't he?"

I nod, wishing that I could deny the accusation. Should have known that Tye, who dislikes the super-healing mutant almost as much as Scott Summers, would sense his invisable return. Logan glares at both of us.

"Darlin', coul' y' tell tha' sorry excuse fer a human t' go 'way?"

I hesitate. It would be nice to have Tyrel around. Even if he can't see the irritating Canadian, he believes in him as fully as I. Of course, I suspect that he has his own muse - who, I'm not really sure, but I'm pretty sure that he must to understand just how truly annoying Logan is.

"Is he being rude?"

I nod, ignoring Logan's growl. My room mate is well aware of the muse's hatred towards him. After all, switching hair tonic for peroxide is not precisely a _friendly_ thing to do. Tyrel runs a hand through his hair, still faintly blond at the ends, before whistling.

"Well... looks like the Invasion has begun."

Once again, my head moves up and down of its own accord. The Invasion. How quaint.

I need some ice cream.

* * *

Sooooo... you like?

Another note: Again, no, I don't support underage drinking as a rule... but you don't live with Logan, do you?


	2. Declaration

**_Declaration_**

"I' needs 'nother adje-ma-thing... wha' th' hell do'ya call um?"

I groan and replace my cursor higher up on the page. "Adjective Logan. And don't you think I already described you enough for one paragraph? When are you actually going to let me know what the plot is, anyway? Who are you even paired with in this story?"

I look up to see shifty eyes. I hate shifty eyes in Logan - it usually bodes for sleepless nights spent typing. On glancing back down, my gaze lights on the alarm clock.

"Oh shite! It's seven o'clock! TYREL!"

A loud thud from the next room shows that Tye forgot to get up.

"What the... shit!" Another loud thud.

I wonder if he left his textbooks in the middle of his floor again...

_thump smash_

"Damnit!"

...or maybe they're by the lamp instead.

Suppressing a grin, I stand up and lunge for my school bag.

"Why do'ya go t' school anyway?"

I glare over at Logan and shove another book into my already stuffed bag. Tye and I take a public bus to the school every day. And I mean, every friggin' day. Don't get me wrong, I adore school. But this whole getting up at five in the morning business... that I could do without.

Especially the whole getting up at five in the morning business when a mutant with far too little coffee and way too much energy is in the same room. I'm generally a nice morning person, perky and pleasant, but nobody has the _right _to look so awake so early.

It just isn't natural.

Oh, wait. He just said something. I could ignore it, but he would probably do something evil to my closet before I get home if I do. Ugh. I find it paradoxical that I'm worried about a muse being left alone in my house when I used to have a druggie flatmate B.T. - Before Tyrel that is.

"Golda, we're gonna be late!"

Tye is standing outside my door and jiggling the knob impatiently. I sigh and zip up my sweater before pulling on mittens. It's cold here in the winter, and not everybody has the metabolism of Logan.

I aimlessly try to find another square inch in my pack so I can stuff my chem homework in without wrinkling it.

"Well?"

I glare at the corner where Wolverine lounges.

"Logan, don't you want people to read my fics?"

Smirking, the mutant props his feet up on my heater and balances on two legs of the cheap wooden chair. He's a review-whore, and he knows it. The question needs no answer.

"So, if I have horrible grammar and bad spelling due to ditching an educational writing class, how many people will want to read it past the first chapter?"

The feet slowly slide off the heater as Logan puzzles at this question. He looks at me, the two front legs of the chair hitting the floor with an audible _thud _as he lowers the seat to all four feet. I groan and finally just fold the stapled papers together and shove them in a side pocket.

"None. And that means..."

Logan's expression is pained. He nods in understanding before replying thoughtfully, in his gruff voice, "No reviews."

I nod back sanctimoniously, and ruthlessly shove a pencil somewhere into the jumble. Tyrel thumps on the door again and then thuds down the hallway - not a quiet man, my roomie - and by the crash and imaginative swearing in the kitchen, promptly drops something.

"Gotta go. Don't touch anything, and don't try to get on my e-mail - I changed the password."

Logan grumbled under his breath. I heave a sigh of relief and bolt out the door to snag an instant oatmeal package and an apple from the cupboard, pull Tye out the door by his collar, and dash with him to the bus stop, where - predictably - we are the last to arrive just in time to load on the smelly transport.

Cutting the apple in half with a questionable utensil I find in the cell phone pouch on my pack, I hand the half of the apple without a core to Tyrel and stow the oatmeal into my back pants pocket. I'm too tired to care how ridiculous I look. Tye takes the fruit with a gesture of thanks, carefully eating around the single seed I left, while I indiscriminately munch through skin, flesh, and core, leaving only stem to mark the existence of an apple in the first place.

Hopefully Logan doesn't think to check my school schedule.

I'm not signed up for any writing classes this semester.

* * *

I know this chapter was more Tye and apple-intensive than Logan-intensive, but I promise that will change. I'm just setting up a backdrop for the plot that will hopefully arrive from Logan soon :p Are we effin' evil or what? 


	3. Replication

As you may have noticed, I'm naming each chapter using a word that ends in the letters _tion_. Yes, this is deliberate, and yes, I'm running out of such words, so any ideas from readers would be helpful. Thus far I've got _preparation, syncopation, alteration, lituration, rendition, formation, translation _and _replication - _not all of which work for the plotIf you submit a word and I decide it has just that right ring to it (ie, Logan looks at it and gets all growly) then I'll slather you with praise and chocolate covered strawberries besides noting your name at the beginning of the chapter with so much praise you'll blush ;-) And onwards we plow... Jo, Tye and I apologize for making so much fun of you, but //tisks// girleen, you need to not show up drunk anymore. Or else. I'll write you in as a Mary-Jane. Grrrrr...

* * *

**_Separation_**

Why is it that I can always make this lock work when I've plenty of light and time, but it mysteriously creaks, squeaks, and rusts fully shut when I'm sneaking in late at night?

I wince as the door laboriously opens, sliding my body into the dark room and dropping my pack noiselessly as I close my eyes and pray, oh pray, please let Logan be a in a state of deep sleep similar to a coma...

"What're you doin' home late?"

So much for luck. Frickin' A, although perhaps frickin' L would be more appropriate. Some days I feel tempted to see if that whole 'shooting-in-the-head' trick in the movies really does knock the beast unconscious. It would be nice reprieve.

I toss my keys somewhere in the general direction of the couch.

"Stayed out to study. I have a Botany test tommorrow."

Logan snorted, sounding somewhere between miffed and a horse. I look behind him to see that the sink is overflowing with dishes and there are suspiscious streaks of red on the grey countertops. Wolverine moves slightly to the right, blocking my view.

"Logan, what small animals did you murder and eat today?"

He snorts again, and the horse-like quality intensifies. I wonder blearily if I should snort back. I'm really not up for this right now. Small circles that resemble a cross between christmas lights and the plant cells I've been looking at for the past two hours dance in my vision.

Steps behind me echo off the cheap metal staircase that leads to my second story apartment. It must either be my extremely creepy and stalker-like neighbor, who raises and sells hamsters - how wierd is that? - an insane and suicidal salesperson, in which case I'll invite them in and let them see the bloody butcher knife sitting on top of the tv and count how many seconds it takes for them to make it back to their car, or the most likely, option c, Tye.

Another key in the lock answers my question. And by the giggles coming with him, I think I can guess his company isn't masculine. Crap. He's going to kill me if he's brought home a date and the house looks like the chainsaw massacure took place in it.

"Logan, get the kitchen cleaned up _now_, or I'm writing a het story about you and Scott and posting it tommorrow!"

Wolverine dashs for the kitchen, stopping in the doorway only long enough to give me an evil glare. I throw myself against the door, forcibly preventing Tyrel from unbolting the panel.

"Uh, Tye... we have a little problem in the kitchen right now... a furry, growly problem... give me a sec?" That should work, although it has started the rumor among his past girlfriend's friends that I own a misbehaved toy dog of some sort that is mysteriously never seen.

Another giggle, and the girl says, "Is that your roommate?" in a loud whisper. _As if it could be anyone else, bimbo. _Tyrel answers back, shushing his companion.

"Golds, it's Jo. She and Andy broke up, and the Fetish Four took her out to 'console' her." The sarcasm is so thick, I can hear it dripping down and overflowing from the balcony under the door. I instantly throw off the deadbolt and chain and swing open the door, just in time to catch Tyrel's sister as she stumbles across the doorway.

The Fetish Four is what Tye calls a group of teens that his younger sister seems to like hanging out with... they're fairly easy to recognize, having hung enough metal from their bodies to sink the _Titanic_, and hair colors between them to color the rainbow. That, and the fact that they all wear a cloned expression of discontent.

I must add that, beside his hatred of Tyrel, Logan has a distinct and dreadful adoration of his little sister. Calls her 'Marie'. Creepy, I know.

Still, as I lower the girl to our couch, I can see why Josephine dressed as Rogue four halloweens in a row. Long rippled mahogany colored hair coupled with greenish eyes, although nowhere near the vibrancy of Rogue's, make her a close enough look-alike for the uprooted Logan muse's worship.

Said growly and at this time bloody muse is banging pots in the kitchen, and from the sounds emerging therewith, has decided mopping is in order as well. Exuberant mopping, if the water creeping over the threshhold is any indication.

"Is he in?"

Tye nudges me and asks the question a second time before I respond.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. That's the noise from the kitchen."

Nodding, he turns away and heads for the bathroom, leaving me alone with his sister.

Jo giggled, somehow melding a hiccup into the mix. "Hehe... someone's in the kitchen... you have soft hands. Why's your hair blue?" She points a somewhat dirty finger past my head towards the doorway.

Henry is standing there. Doctor Hank McCoy, in all his furry blue glory, is standing in my doorway. Did I mention the fact that it's drizzling outside, so it is in fact a wet furry blue mutant dripping on my welcome mat?

"Oh no. You have the wrong house. Henry, Logan's already here."

Hank smiles. "Why else would I come so expediantly? Logan summoned me hither for a plot twist. It was my understanding that you were in concordance with this invitation." His smiles droops, blue eyesbrows creasing together. "Stars and garters, why is that child drunk?"

I groan and yell for Tye to hurry up with the puke bowl we keep in the bathroom. I cannot handle another muse right now.

"Look, Henry, can you go stay with someone else for a couple weeks? Come to think of it... why aren't you with Taylor right now?"

The shaggy hair drifts rebeliously into his equally blue eyes. "Taylor has asked me if I might take a short sabbatical while she recuperates from my continuous presence. I believe her words were 'bugger off' as a matter of record."

I groan again, louder in the hope that Tyrel will get the message and hurry up before Jo has an accident. "You didn't mention buying Twinkie stocks again, did you?"

The blue brows crease together in thought. "I may have mentioned the vague thought in passing, but did not make a definate plan towards the goal, no."

Tye shows up again, and looks over at the open door, tossing me the stainless-steel mixing bowl.

"Why's the door open?"

Holding Jo's head over the bowl, I examine her carefully before answering. She may be drunk, but I'm not sure if she's drunk enough to throw up.

"Dr. McCoy stopped by for a short... visit..." The blue doctor has dissapeared. "Shite. Tye, take the bowl. I need to go chase him out of the house."

Jo giggles again. "He's cute." The door, still open, reveals an equally wet Remy LeBeau.

"NO!"

Tye leaps to his feet, and slams the door, locking it. I blink in consternation, only to jump as Logan greets Henry in the kitchen with a roar and the sound of very manly and bruising back thumping.

"Tye... what...?"

I'm confused. I'm so confused that the word confused can't begin to describe the feeling of floorlessness I'm currently experiencing.

Tyrel throws the deadbolt and chain. I roll my eyes. It might keep Scott out... heaven forbid that _that _stuck-up doorknob shows tonight as well... but Remy doesn't really pay attention to locks.

He _does _pay strict attention to windows however.

"So, p'tite, when ca' we star'?"

I turn to slap the irritating Cajun back into place with some well-placed sarcasm and a biting Cajun epiteth, but to my astonishment, Tye beats me to it.

"We're not interested _salaude_, got it?"

Tyrel. Remy. I think I need some air. Did Tye just call Gambit a bastard, or was I hallucinating from the beer fumes currently rising off Jo?

"You can _see _him?"

I ignore Jo's giggles, followed by a small retch. Guess she is drunk enough. Hopefully the Fetish Four only had alcohol tonight. I'm really not interested in a trip to the emergency room right now, although... it _might_ be a good place to ditch Henry.

Tye looks sideways at me. "No, but I can smell his cologne."

At my look of disbelief, he rolls his eyes and closes the window, Remy sidestepping out of the way. "I lived with Alicia, 'member?"

Oh. Yeah. Alicia had quite the 'affair' with Remy, didn't she? Tye would doubtless become aware of the presence of Remy's cologne when he was living with the smell 24/7.

Back to ditching Henry. I'm thinking the hospital is my best bet... hmmm... who can I take to the emergency room as a cover?


	4. Translation

**_Separation_**

Jo's snores wake me. Rolling over, I hit the alarm clock to see a brightly flashing _PF _glare back at me. Great. Just bloody brilliantly great. I really really needed a power failure just now.

Groaning, I swing my legs out of bed and flick the wall switch. It turns on, flickering, and I open my blinds to see four inches of snow building up outside my railing. Shite. Shiteshiteshite. I need to go put my car under cover before it rusts and/or freezes to the pavement. Tye's 'cycle should probably be covered too.

Pulling on a sweatshirt and some jeans, I yawn widely before tiptoeing past Josephine. She passed out on the couch fifteen minutes after Henry arrived, and as Tye and I weren't up for convincing the over-enthusiastic Cajun and confused Henry to leave, we retreated to our rooms at the early hour of one o'clock. Glancing at the softly ticking kitchen clock, I groan loudly before remembering the sleeping Henry in the kitchen.

Three a.m. on a Saturday. Ugh.

Unlocking the deadbolt, I hardly have time to squeeze out the door before Remy is sliding out beside me. His red on black eyes glare at me angrily.

"Jus' what was y'thinking p'tite? I's dangerous o' there fer y'now. Remy come wit'y to he'p."

I shut the door and shuffle through the snow, ignoring Remy's shivers but instead trying to stay as close as possible to him without making it obvious. The mutant is like a living heater.

After climbing down the three flights of stairs and crossing a precariously balenced board over the plumbing-in-progress that is my land lady's latest project, I fish out my keys and unlock the frozen door. Brushing snow from my bangs, I remind myself yet again to get a haircut soon and kick snow off the running-board.

The seat inside feels like Bobby's been driving. Oh dear, better to not even think about the rest of the mutant contigent. I honestly don't think I could find another bare floorboard to put them on.

The motor rumbles and squeaks, but refuses to turn over. Just brilliant.

Groaning, I climb out of the door and slam it shut. Remy shivers outside the car, wrapping his trench coat firmly around himself before sidling up. "Da car no' start?"

Ignoring the irritating mutant, I stomp off across the parking lot and drag Tyrel's motocyle to the relative safety of the laudry room, hoping the puddles of snow will melt before anyone else gets up. It's not like anyone will steal his 'cycle in this complex - too easy to trace the thundering beast.

Whirling around towards the door, I instead connect with a wide chest. My world fuzzes for few moments before I look up slowly. If it's another x-men, I may be forced to take drastic action.

"Miss, what are you doing here?"

Huh?

I think that bears repeating.

"Huh?"

The security guard in front of me waves his flashlight up and down my body, doubtless registering the state of my feet - namely, bare in flipflops - before gliding back up to see my face.

"Are you a guest here?"

Geeze. This guy must be new. All the other security guards remember me VERY well, due to the unfortunate and unprecidinted find of bent horseshoes all over my front porch while I was away at work. Seems Logan decided to have fun while I was gone.

Anyway, apparently the sight of a waifish and obviously unmuscular female coming up the stairs towards them and the mound of bent horseshoes was enough to imprint Golda of 14A in their mind forever.

Where the hell is Logan when I need him?

Oh, the bloke asked me a question.

"No, I'm up in 14A. With Tyrel?"

The flashlight doesn't lower in the slightest. "Tyrel whom, if I may ask?"

"Ummmm..."

What is Tye's last name anyways? Shite, I know it, I know it...

I grin helplessly. "Give me a sec. I'm kinda tired." I manage a yawn with very little trouble.

"I'll escort you back up."

"Ummm..."

This guy - Mike? I squint at the name tag - must think that's one of the only words/sounds I know. But honestly, I'm more fussed over what will happen when an enormous furry blue mutant answers the door instead of my roommate.

"Is m'p'tite 'n trouble?"

Remy. Oh god, Remy. Go AWAY!!!

The guard turns towards the Cajun, lounging in his trench coat, and looking every inch the unsavory scoundrel. I mean, who wears sunglasses at three in the morning in a friggin' SNOWSTORM?

Why the hell did he decide to become corporeal right now for mutant's sake?

"Is this your roomate?"

Wait, who is this guy to ask me all the questions? I'm a paying tenant here, and I deserve to be allowed to wander up to my room without interferance. And if smarming up to Remy is what it takes, I'll do it.

Deep gulp.

I saunter over to Gambit and loop an arm around his waist, snuggling under the coat. He really _is_ like a heater.

"This is my boyfriend. He's staying the night with me. We came down to put my roommate's bike away." I decide to risk the added fun of acting the part of a ditzy blond.

Besides, in my experience, playing up to naturally blond hair often gets better results with less questions when it comes to all men (including gay ones), as well as equally dumb women.

Rolling my eyes and flipping hair in a million different directions, I pinch Remy's back slightly to warn him against saying anything. He jumps. Oops, guess I pinched a little low.

Insert mental evil grin here. Hey, if the dude is going to follow me outside and then reveal himself to a security guard, he takes his risks.

"I'll need to verify that, Miss, before I allow you start knocking on doors."

I roll my eyes again. "Like, I _so _have a key." Okay, so just maybe the key's name is Remy, a non-existant mutant, but cut me some slack here. What would it sound like if I said, 'No, I'm not going to knock, instead I'll allow my mythical muse to break in for me'?

Insane, irrational, and complete loony-bin material.

And trust me, I really don't like my secrets getting out like that.

After watching me for a moment, the guard nods and waves his flashlight in a wiggly pattern obviously intended to show agreement. "Alright then. Better clean this mess up in the morning though." He grins and winks at me, and I feel a strong urge to vomit. Gads, I hate being young and female sometimes. I'm practically looking forwards to the day when I can be an old ugly hag.

"Kay. Thanks." Still holding onto Remy's waist, I saunter out, flipping hair to assert my status as blond material. Once we're outside, Remy picks a piece out of his mouth and grins at me.

"Remy didn' know da p'tite w'such a good liar."

I pinch him again, this time on the arm and not quite so hard. He yelps anyway and skitters away while I grin. I have to admit, I'm a little sadistic this early - note the time I ceran-wrapped two guys to their beds.

"Remy, cut out the third person shit and come tuck me in, 'kay?"

Remy grumbles, but inserts a hairpin in the door - "Remy, is that mine?" - and wiggles it around a little, clicking the latch open in no time. I hardly have time to slide through the door after him when Tye grabs my hip instead of the doorknob.

"Sorry... Golds?" He stares blankly at me, rubbing his eyes with one hand. I roll my own, vestiges of ditziness left over from tricking the guard, and pull off my sweatshirt to toss at him.

"Tye, put something on." He stares equally blankly at the over-large garmet, originally an ex-boyfriends, before looking down at his bare chest.

"Oh... thought it was chilly in here."

Tyrel. Not the brightest guy sometimes, even if he is unfailingly sweet underneath the bad-boy wannabe exterior.

I click my tongue and chivy him towards his room, softening my footsteps past Jo, still ensconced on the couch. Henry snores in the kitchen, and Logan grunts something unintelligable in response. Gads, I feel like I'm running a damn boarding house!

"My 'cy... 'cy... 'cycle." Tye barely manages to get the word past a yawn. I give him a shove into his room, sticking my head through the door after him.

"Took care of it. I put the girl in the laundry room."

A muffled "Thanks." shows Tye is already back in bed.

Goofball.

Now, on to the mutant heater that had better be warming up the foot of my bed for me...


	5. Conjugation

**_Conjugation_**

"..da. Golda."

I lay still. Maybe if I pretend to be dead, it'll go away.

"Gooooldaaaa."

I allow the push to shove dead weight in the guise of my body across the mattress. I'm asleep. I'm in a deep comatose state of being. I will meditate upon this truth.

Ohmmmmm...

"P'tite.." "Darlin'..." "Golds! It's time to get up!" "My dear..."

Silence. Heavy breathing can be heard from the four males, one corporeal and the others less so but equally noisy.

"Are you awake?" "Mebbe 'f Remy tickles belle..." "Col' water'll do th' trick." "That is hardly a fair means of arousal."

More silence, but less breathing. Apparently thought takes less oxygen than discussion.

"Golda, I'm eating your cereal."

Spark of interest. That isn't a nice thing to do. Bad Tyrel. I'll be sure to chastise him later.

"Didn' work. I'll go ge' th' water..."

Loud clomping. Have to remind Logan to remove his boots in the house.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Where did he _get _that stuff? Antartica?

"I think she had a heart attack."

This is all too much. My sanity is cracking, I can feel the paint of self-control peeling away...

"Hey, where's the bathroom Tye?"

Oh, not happening. Somebody just threw some paint thinner on afore mentioned self-control.

Leaping upright, I wrap myself in sheets and throw a pillow at Logan. Henry and Remy start as Logan reels backwards, growling as he evades the feathery projectile, while Jo stares at me, doubtless wondering why I threw the pillow at empty air while Tye is backing away slowly in clear view.

Is is just me, or is my room becoming claustrophobic suddenly?

"OUT! Out out out!"

I slam the door on retreating posteriors and grumpily pull out my favorite stay at home clothes - my little brother's old jeans, my Jayne from _Firefly _extra-big sweatshirt, fuzzy socks, and a shirt. What can I say, I'm funny that way.

Tye is waiting outside the door, eating from a cereal box. Another somewhat closer examination reveals that he is eating _my _cereal.

"Tye... ugh, forget it."

Tyrel grins and crunches another handful of sugared flakes.

"Yah know, before I roomed with you, I thought people only said stuff like 'gah', 'ugh', and 'oof' in comics."

I blink. "Hello, Tye, news flash; I live with three comic book characters." I really really really need coffee.

Jo knocks something over in the bathroom while Tye considers, rustling around in the near-empty cereal box while he thinks.

Logan's head pops around the corner, grinning for a moment before his eyes narrow at the picture of Jayne on my front.

As the _Firefly _characters have thus far never shown so much a gorram shoe (have to watch _Serenity _or _Firefly_ to get that, sorry) Jayne and Logan have luckily never met; but I shiver for the day they do. I'm not sure my apartment would live through it.

"Darlin', if'n you talk like tha', why don' he? Ain' he in th' same house?"

I turn to throw another pillow, and instead lay hand on a textbook. I stare at the thick volumes in my hand. Hmm, Calc or Stats? Oooh, never mind, here's Government.

Logan ducks as the already battered book smashes into the doorframe by his head.

" 'ey, Fuzzy, Remy b'walkin' dere."

There are too many people in this house, and I've had about enough. Slamming the door shut again, I rummage in my endtable/desk for my cell phone.

The small Motorola starts grouchily, whining almost as much as I do about the cold. Shivering, I glance out the window to see five inches of snow adorning the rooves and front lawns around me. My hand automatically flips the switch on my heater once or twice, going past the automatic breaker from last nights power failure.

_beep beep boop beep boop beep beep_

"Hello?"

I drum my fingers against the desk in jubilation. Alicia, a good friend who specilizes in Gambit fanfiction, may just be a godsend.

"Alicia? It's Golda with a muse overload emergency."

The long drawnout groan from the other end of the phone is almost touching enough to make me forget the whole idea.

Almost.

"Sweetie, I've got Remy, Henry, _and _Logan. I can't handle all the testosterone in my house right now. Please please _please _can you take Remy for a while. At least until I finish this Wolverine story."

Another groan.

"Golda, I just managed to convince my fiance that I was practicing my French instead of talking to an invisable x-men. Cut me a break here!"

I remain silent. Alicia's voice is resigned when she speaks again.

"Fine, I'll take him. But I'm not taking Henry, and don't even bring Logan along for a visit. I can't stand the idiot. Do you know he was with me for all of three hours before taking off to your place? Worst three hours..."

Her voice trails away to a background mumble as she talks to someone off the phone.

"... where was I? Oh. Worst goddamn three hours of my life. Showed up while I was taking a bath. Does the perve barge into your bathroom too?"

I grin, unable to help myself.

"Dearheart, I'm not as beautiful as you. And I've taken to sleeping and bathing with a butcher knife at hand. So... I'll be right over?"

"Yeah, yeah..."

Slamming the phone down, I stalk out of the room, victory in hand as I brandish an adress book. Even the sight of my favorite pillow being seperated messily from Logan's claws doesn't faze me. I swing the keys to my car and grin at Remy as he tries to explain that the pillow leapt out of his hands and into Logan's. These guys are like toddlers sometimes, I swear.

"Tye, Jo? I'm going on a little road trip. Be back later."


	6. Decimation

**_Decimation_**

"Remy, come on. Henry, I'd let you go but my new car doesn't have a sun roof, sorry."

Hank nods, obviously disapointed, before turning back enthralled to my Biochemistry text. That mutant is truly strange at times. I'm pretty wierd when it comes to geekocity and science, but even I don't like that textbook.

Logan steps forward. "Yer gonna need 'tection from th' Cajun. N' disrespect 'r nothin', bu' I don' trus' ya bub."

I make a kill gesture across my throat and mouth _Scooter _threateningly. Logan takes the hint and grumbles his way to the couch next to Beast.

Remy shrugs, patting his pocket. A frown forms.

"P'tite, where di' y'put m'cards?"

I open my eyes wide in a play for innocence. I was hoping he wouldn't notice that little deficiency. "Cards? What cards? Oh, we better hurry. Come on, we're gonna be late. Later Tye - Logan, don't do that, I'm not sure it's good for anyone involved - I'll be back in an hour or so."

Logan's formidable brows beetled together as he stopped experimenting with his claw and the remote. The best guess I could make was he was trying to see how hard he could push the channel changer without puncturing the poor appliance.

I shake my head, determined not to picture anything else that might be happening to my apartment during my absence. The words _maintenance deposit _dancing across my mind weren't helping however.

After manuevering my way across the snow covered obstacle field that is my front lawn and parking lot, I unlock the car door and dig for a credit card. It isn't until I've almost finished scraping ice and snow off the windshield that I notice Remy is still standing with the car door half open.

"Remy, it's freezing, get in the car."

He shuffles his feet. "Chere, dere's a... a... a t'ing on Remy's fron' sea'."

Poking my head in the car, I observe the tampon dispasionately.

"Well, shove it out of the way then. I've got to finish with this, or else we'll end up with a Private Malone moment later."

Remy eyes me, a mixture of confusion and irritation flashing across his face.

"Who, petite?"

I groan and scrape off one last shard of ice before hustling around to the open door. "Private Malone, Remy. God, don't they have Country music down there in Luiesiana?"

Remy scratches his chin thoughtfully, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. "Non." He still makes no move to enter the car, eying the toiletry like it might jump up and bite him.

Grumbling, I reach over and brush off the offending bit of plastic into the glove compartment. Remy slides in, pulling the door closed behind him

"Well, Private Malone is a ghost that saves someone from burning to death in a car that used to be his. A sort of feel-good folk tale."

Gambit looks even more confused. "Bu' I ain' a ghos' 'Olda."

"Golda. Golda. Put the 'G' on my name even if you leave it off everything else."

A wide gallent sweep of the arm almost takes my head off in what I not-so-fondly call my 'little Rollerskate'. The white Honda has two front seats, a huge truck, and nothing else except a tiny dashboard and the glove compartment, which is almost as big as the trunk. Honestly, I think somebody had their priorities either very wrong or very right when they designed this piece of junk.

"When I figure out which one it is, I'll let you know."

"Which one wha', 'Olda... Golda." The last was apologetic in tone.

"Nothin'. I was just thinking aloud." Damn. I always start dropping my g's when I hang out with Remy for too long.

Turning the ignition, I listen to the motor turn protestingly over without any sympathy. I give the thing all the oil and gasoline a car could possibly want. Premium gas even, when I can afford it. What more could the Rollerskate want?

A new starter, transmission, and brake pads probably, but I don't believe in spoiling my vehicles.

Throwing it into gear, I back up slowly before breaking the news. "Remy, I'm taking you to stay with Alicia."

I slam on the brakes as my passenger side door opens unexpectedly. "Remy!"

"Non, p'tite c'est vou."

I blinked. "Haven't got clue what you just said, but I think you were telling me no. Is that the case?"

Remy nods, his arms crossed stubbornly. Checking the still empty parking lot and hoping that the snow would have kept everyone inside, I inhale deeply before shouting at the top of my formidable lungs.

"LOGAAAAAAN!"

My apartment door slams against the wall as Wolverine bursts through. "WHA'?"

The equally loud bellow reaches us easily across the parking lot. Remy nervously pushes his sunglasses further up his nose and tightens the leather trenchcoat. I raise an eyebrow at him. He nods once, unhappily, and gets in the car.

"NOTHING!"

I can hear the growling from here. Hopefully Wolverine doesn't decide to take out his temper on my remote...


End file.
